


come, my darling, homeward bound

by azumarheart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Maternal Molly Weasley, POV Molly Weasley, also a headcanon about molly having some divination traits, molly is that someone, someone needs to protect this child and give him love!, taking in harry as her own child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27902245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azumarheart/pseuds/azumarheart
Summary: Harry is not her own child. She did not protect him in the safety of her womb, nor did she have the opportunity to raise him with love. But as she holds the boy for the first time, all 12 years old and fragility and full of loss, she feels that motherly intuition rise in her. The same way it did for all of the children she carried through pregnancy.--------aka a comfort fic where Molly Weasley is the loving adult figure Harry needs but has never had. Also sprinkled in with a headcanon that Molly has a divination infused maternal instinctvery fluffy and warm
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Harry Potter & Molly Weasley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 153
Collections: Harry Potter





	come, my darling, homeward bound

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys like this! It's been a while since I've posted oops. It's my senior year of college so I've been busy. Also I have a girlfriend now :)  
> This is a purely indulgent fic where Molly comforts Harry the way that I wish I could. I relate to Molly because I just know she has the biggest maternal instinct and love for children. The concept of Molly Weasley giving Harry a home makes me cry.
> 
> Title from "All is Found" from Frozen 2 lol

Molly Weasley knew what her children would be like before they were born. While heavy and pregnant with each baby Weasley, she would get signs of their future personalities.

When she first became pregnant with Bill, she exhibited some weird behaviors. At first she assumed it was simply pregnancy hormones, but looking back, they were clear predictors of her son’s future traits.

Whereas Molly had been a bit high-strung at times, she was very calm and peaceful while pregnant. It felt like a solid, steady, gentle weight was soothing her soul at all times. At times, she could almost smell the ocean breeze, and when she closed her eyes at night, she could hear the gentle crashing of waves. Arthur claimed it was tinnitus, but Molly felt that it was something different. She spent a lot of time reading outside, walking slowly through the fields and breathing in nature.

Pregnancy with Charlie was similar but very different.

Molly always felt like she was jittering with energy when she was cooped up inside for too long. She walked the familiar paths of the fields that she once read in- but she would duck into denser areas and sought out new paths to explore. Once or twice, Arthur had to track her down in the middle of the night, as she’d gotten too lost to come home. She’d seek out the animals around the Burrow, marveling at them as if they were new. Something was always shaking inside of her, desperate to find new things and discover.

Percy was a blessing after that long period of adventurousness.

Molly calmed considerably, similar to how she was when pregnant with Bill. She felt that familiar studiousness and need to read often. However, it felt like something had bound her spine into a straight line, and she was always on edge. She nit-picked Arthur often and got frustrated much more easily when messes were made.

Fred and George kicked. All. The. Time.

Even so, Molly had never felt so comical in all her life. She cracked jokes that left Arthur red-faced and wheezing, as she smiled widely. Molly had never been one for joking really, but something full of excitement, joy, and mischievousness would bubble up inside of her. Laying in bed at night, twin feet kicking away, she would feel this sense of love and the strength of a bond like no other. She could feel how connected her babies were.

But every night before bed, Fred would stop kicking first. George continued pummeling away for a while longer, but Fred always seemed to stop moving entirely. Something harsh and foreboding would creep through Molly’s limbs, and she would often turn her face into Arthur’s chest to soak up a few stray tears.

She would later wish that she had listened to that feeling a bit more seriously.

Ron was unique.

Molly didn’t behave much differently, or if she did, it was masked by the usual frenzied way she acted trying to wrangle all her boys. However, she felt, sometimes, this burning warmth in the base of her throat. It spread like liquid fire, strong and steady through her chest. She felt it in her, that Ron would be brave, would be strong and reliable, and most likely a Gryffindor. He would do legendary things. Arthur just said she had heartburn and went on a tangent about some Muggle tool called ‘tums’. But Molly saw flashes of gold every time she closed her eyes. She held the steady weight in her stomach and knew Ron was destined for greatness.

Molly knew that Ginny was a girl from the get-go.

She was this steady and calming presence, not unlike Bill, but something softer. The heavy weight in her stomach did not drag her down, but instead, it grounded her. When her head felt a mile away, or her emotions were strung out in a wire-thin string, that steady, lukewarm feeling spread through her veins- like the feeling of gasping oxygen back into your lungs after having not breathed for a while.

Molly catalogued all these feelings and emotions she had experienced, but never thought much of it.

Maybe divination was her calling, but by the time she connected the feelings during pregnancy to the grown-up traits of her children, she was fine continuing on as she was.

** During Harry’s stay with the Weasleys- August before Harry's 2nd Year, after Ron picked him up from the Dursleys using the flying car **

It’s past midnight and Molly can’t sleep.

She has nights like this. Where her body misses the comforting weight of a child in her stomach. The ache grows sometimes to the point where she needs to hold something. If anyone is awake, she goes to cuddle with them. Otherwise, she looks for Percy’s cat and lays him on her chest.

The aching is manageable tonight, as she rises softly from her bed, shuffling around to the other side and tucking the heavy quilt more firmly around Arthur. He snores softly, and she smiles fondly, kissing his nose. Her heart warms as he smiles softly in his sleep. She walks carefully with socked feet, down stairs and more stairs, into the living room, where the sound tends to distance itself from the bedrooms.

She tidies up a few things, as she warms a cup of tea and sets some scones to bake. They’ll bake fast and give her more time to relax during breakfast the next morning.

For a while, she leans against the sink, staring out into the field of wheat, watching stars twinkle and listening to crickets sing. She inhales the steam from her cup heavily, before finishing it up and setting it to be washed. The first batch of scones comes out and she sets two on a nice plate. Sometimes she gets extra peckish during these hours.

Taking the scones over to the couch, she slumps back into the worn and plush cushions, with longer-than-normal seats that allow her to tuck her feet up crisscrossed, and still be a foot from the edge. After setting the scones on the table beside her, Molly picks up her basket of yarn and needles, and begins to knit. Her mind clears and she finds herself relaxing, sinking into the rhythmic clinking of metal.

She turns after a while to take a nibble of a scone, when she sees movement near the staircase. Her eyes flicker up, and she sees Harry, hair sticking up haphazardly, pajamas ruffled, and eyes tired in a way that indicates that he was unable to sleep as well. She smiles softly, and gestures him over with a tilt of her fingers. He looks startled for a moment, before his socked feet pad across to the sofa. She slides over, and he takes it as an invitation to sit. The charmed fireplace still smolders, letting out an occasional pop and crack.

“Now what are you doing up dear?” Molly speaks quietly, unlike her usual brash, motherly tone she has to use to be heard over all the kids she has to corral.

Harry tucks his legs under himself and a bit to the side, one hand scratching lightly at his pajama pants above his knee, and the other trailing along his right temple.

“Couldn’t sleep. It’s hard... sometimes. Sleeping in a different place from my bed at the Dursley’s. Sometimes my scar aches. Like a sharp headache. But also, like something is reaching out and pressing at my forehead. It sounds weird but...” Harry trails off, shrugging lightly and curling into himself further.

Molly furrows her brow in concern.

“I’m sorry about your head darling. I’m sure...” She stops for a moment, before sighing.

“Honestly? I feel as if big things, possibly bad, are coming in the close future. But it’s nothing I’d be able to help with. Best I can do is offer you some good food and a warm bed.”

Harry allows himself a wry smile as she holds out her plate, and he takes the uneaten scone with a quiet ‘thank you’. He takes a bite, and places it back on the plate, which Molly then sets on the coffee table.

“Is there something I could do to make your bed more comfortable? I’ve got a whole book, ‘ _A Witch’s Guide to a Good Night’s Rest_ ’ full of charms. Was your bed at home soft or hard?” she says, running through spells in her mind.

Harry looks a bit lost for a moment, as if he doesn’t know exactly how to respond. Molly’s confusion grows, but she sees that Gryffindor determination steel itself in his eyes.

“Honestly Mrs. Weasley? It wasn’t much of a bed at all. I used to have an old mattress of my cousin Dudley’s from when he was a toddler. After a growth spurt though, it was hard to fit on the bed. But my aunt wasn’t keen on buying a new mattress. Told me a longer bed wouldn’t fit in the cupboard anyways. She gave me some old cushions from the sofa they were replacing, so I placed them at the end and side of the bed. My legs were too long to fit lengthwise, so I had to curl up. But the cushions were soft at least.”

“A... A cupboard? Why would you need to worry about your bed fitting in the cupboard?” Molly says, a lump of anxiety pushing at her throat, heart pounding at the implication of his words.

Harry makes direct eye contact and speaks.

“Well, that was my room. The cupboard under the stairs. The Dursley’s didn’t want to waste a room on me.”

The silence that lays before them is deafening. Molly is sure that her ears are ringing. Her eyes are definitely wide.

“H-Harry... Are you...?” She can’t finish her sentence. She reaches out and grabs his hand.

“Harry, you do understand that you shouldn’t have been treated as such? You know that you... you deserve better than that?”

Harry looks back with a neutral face.

“Well... I thought it was normal for a while. It wasn’t until I started school that I was suspicious. The families in stories never matched what I dealt with. But at the same time my aunt and uncle called me a freak, so I figured I was an exception.”

Molly feels her throat clench painfully with the force it takes to not let tears out.

“Harry darling, please tell me more about how they treated you. About how you grew up.”

She, on the surface, does not want to hear it. Does not want to listen to the horrible things this child had likely gone through. But deep down, she knows that she needs to hear it. She knows that Harry needs someone to listen. An adult figure who cares.

“Erm… alright. My entire life, my aunt talked bad about my parents. She tried to make me hate them, but I started to hate her instead. I made up fantasies about how wonderful they would have been to me. Aunt Petunia was mean, but she babied Dudley all the time. She still does. He’s so spoiled. He gets everything he wants and makes a fuss when he doesn’t. At school, he bullies me and makes sure no one will be friends with me. All my clothes and stuff is hand-me-downs from him. My Uncle Vernon is awful. He yells a lot. Even when I do my chores correctly, he’ll still find a reason to yell. He’s hit me a few times. Once he...” Harry trails off, left hand tracing the wrist of his right, and bumping into the shaking fingers of Molly, still wrapped around his hand.

“He grabbed my arm one time- after I dropped a plate. Oh, I also cooked all the meals. Anyways, I was sick, and they wouldn’t let me rest. I got a bit dizzy and the plate slipped from the counter and smashed. Uncle Vernon’s face got so red. He grabbed my wrist, shouting, and threw me into my cupboard. My wrist snapped and I hit my head against a shelf. He locked me in until morning. Aunt Petunia saw my wrist and my head the next day and had to take me to the doctor. She told them I tripped down the stairs. I had a concussion and my wrist was fractured. That was probably the worst injury.”

Tears are streaming steadily down his cheeks at this point, but his eyes are glazed and unfocused from the flashbacks, as he recounts the pain he had gone through. Molly’s lips quiver as she cries tears of her own.

“It sucked. It really, really was awful. They were never ever kind, not once. I had no friends except for the ones I made in my head. I had to do so many chores, and I did them even when it hurt. Dusting and cooking and laundry and gardening and mowing and dishes. Petunia would make me scrub the bathtub with bleach once every two months until my hands bled. I was so cold in the winters. Once, Uncle Vernon locked me outside, and I almost froze to death. I was sick for a while after.”

Harry sniffles, and tries to wipe his face, but the tears keep coming. He looks up to Molly, face beginning to scrunch up in a way that promises that a big cry is coming soon.

“I don’t want to think that I deserved it, but they always told me I did. Because I was a freak, because my parents were freaks, because of magic. I didn’t even know I was a wizard, but they still punished me for it. For being myself. I don’t want to… but I still think I deserve it.”

He finally breaks down.

After 12 years of being alone, of never having a comforting, loving hand, or even someone to listen, he finally cracks. Tears pour down his cheeks as they grow red and blotchy, his face scrunching up. Loud sobs tear through his small frame, and he sucks in long gasping breaths in-between.

Molly, through soft sobs of her own, wraps her arms tightly around the boy, pulling him onto her lap. He may be too old by normal standards to sit in her lap, or fit there, but he is quite small. Physically, due to this apparent neglect, and emotionally in this moment. He needs the comfort.

Harry tucks his head into her neck, huffing out cries, and leaving her skin sticky with hot tears. His arms wrap around her shoulders, fingers gripping tight into her nightgown, as if he is trying to keep her close for as long as possible. As if he is afraid she will pull him away.

Molly holds him close, one hand steady against his back and the other running soft circles against his spine. His far too boney spine. She presses her face against his hair, speaking soft words and reassurances.

“Oh Harry, my darling, I’m so sorry sweetheart, it’s okay, let it all out.”

She rocks herself and him gently back and forth, the same way she did with all of her children, the same way she gently coaxed them to stop their tears and drift to sleep.

Harry is not her own child. She did not protect him in the safety of her womb, nor did she have the opportunity to raise him with love. But as she holds the boy for the first time, all 12 years old and fragility and full of loss, she feels that motherly intuition rise in her. The same way it did for all of the children she carried through pregnancy.

She feels that this child was born for greatness. He will accomplish things that will impact the state of the world for millennia. He is a fate changer, a trick shot, the card up your sleeve. He is born with importance, born to fulfill a prophecy and save more lives than he can imagine.

Oh, how Molly cries when she feels this. Because that is so much to expect of a boy. Of someone who has experienced nothing but pain since his birth, who experienced loss like no other, fear like no other, and the highest expectations possible. Oh, Molly knows, he will suffer. Molly knows that fate is cruel and the key figures who mess with fate’s plans are the ones fate targets the most. Harry is not done feeling grief and loss and pain and abuse. He knows nothing of trauma, nothing of what is coming for him. Molly weeps and weeps as she comes to terms with how much the tiny innocent boy in her arms will have to go through. So many unthinkable things are coming his way.

As she calms, and breathes deep, something resolute takes hold in her heart with finality.

She may not be able to prevent what the future holds for Harry. No, she is merely a pawn in the chess game played by fate. But Molly has the ability to fill the boy in her arms with love and care like no other. She will give him a home, a place to return to, a steady haven when everything in his life is shook up and shattering. She will be that steady presence, the lighthouse in the distance, shining her light and beckoning him to safety. No, Molly is not able to prevent his pain from happening. But she will comfort him like a mother, hold him tight as he cries, and **never** let him feel that he is not loved.

She swears on her life.

Molly isn’t sure how long they sit there, but her tears eventually cease, and she feels his body stop heaving with sobs.

“Darling. You always have a home here. Please, please remember that. I will never leave you. You deserve a loving family. You deserve to be cared for. I will do whatever it takes to make sure that happens,” Molly whispers into his hair.

Harry whines softly, nuzzling closer into her arms. Molly imagines that it must feel nice to let down one’s guard for the first time. To completely open himself up to be vulnerable under the gaze of an adult, when no adult had treated him gently before. She can sense the bone-deep tiredness of his limbs and the slow steadying of his breath as he gives in.

“Come on dear, let’s go to bed.”

The boy in her arms is far too small and Molly is strong. She lifts him easily, as his face is still hidden from sight and his limbs are still loose. Molly carries him into his guest room on the first floor and gently lays him in bed.

“Mrs. Weasley… d-don’t… please,” Harry whispers desperately. His hands shake as they clench the fabric of her nightgown. Molly can feel the waves of need and resigned defeat coming from him. As if he expects her to leave. She refuses to do so.

“No worries dear. I won’t leave.”

Molly slides into bed with Harry. He nervously moves toward her, then when he notices that she hasn’t moved away, he latches onto her once again.

It’s a familiar feeling, holding a small child in her arms who so badly needs comfort. Bill was plagued with nightmares until he was in his late teens, Ron often got scared of the shadows and noises in his room, and Ginny still had some lingering separation anxiety. Now she had Harry: a boy who was touch-starved and lonely, hurt and so, _so_ young.

He falls asleep quickly. Molly feels the puffs of air against her neck and settles in relief, knowing that Harry feels safe enough to sleep. Her throat clenches when she notices his legs scrunched up and she remembers. A cupboard… a toddler sized mattress… old couch cushions… Molly can feel rage boiling in her.

Harry shifts closer and Molly breaks out of her thoughts.

She’d think of revenge in the morning. Maybe she’d send a few Howlers to Dumbledore in the morning. She’d figure out Harry’s favorite breakfast and make it for him. She’d tell Arthur of what she’d discovered. She’d petition for guardianship over the boy. Or something. Anything.

For now, she removes the boy’s glasses, pushes back his hair, and gives him a forehead kiss. At last, she allows herself to drift to sleep.

Harry is hers and he is safe now, in her arms.


End file.
